Promise Me Forever

by Kimberly Nee

  Twenty-eight

  Drew froze as Rebecca Monroe slipped her hand into the crook of his arm and purred, “Good morning, stranger."

  "Rebecca? What the—what do you think you are doing?” he asked, glaring down at her.

  "I thought it was you I saw as I was coming out of MacDowell's,” she replied, seemingly unperturbed by his less-than-friendly greeting, as she gave him a coquettish smile. “And I thought I'd come over and greet an old friend."

  He faced her, pulling free from her grasp. She was the very image of fashion, dressed in a becoming gown of pale yellow muslin that perfectly suited her tall, slender frame. Her golden blonde hair was pulled away from her face in a series of complicated ringlets and covered by a most fashionable bonnet of pale yellow, and she was slipping white silk gloves from her slim hands.

  He didn't return her smile. In fact, he felt nothing as he simply stared at the woman he'd almost married. She was as beautiful as ever, but he found himself thinking about a tiny slip of a woman with chestnut hair and luminous dark, gold-flecked eyes, wishing she stood before him now.

  "An old friend, you say?” he replied dryly. “I think that might be stretching it."

  She twirled her pale yellow parasol as she said, “Oh, I know I did a terrible thing. But we all make mistakes, don't we? We were so good together, don't you think? And now that you are back, I thought, perhaps, you might—Drew, you are not even listening to me!"

  He turned away sharply as he caught sight of Heather out of the corner of his eye. His heart quickened as his eyes met hers. Then hers narrowed, and he swore under his breath. Of course, she could see Rebecca standing there with him. He could only imagine what she must be thinking. The pit of his stomach dropped painfully.

  "Excuse me,” he told Rebecca shortly, attempting to step away from her, reaching for the brass door handle.

  But she was not about to give up so easily, lunging for his arm once more. “But, Drew—"

  "No!” He ignored the heads swiveling in their direction at his raised voice. “No, Rebecca. Hear this and hear it well, my dear lady. You are poison. Absolute poison. Now, do release me, or suffer the embarrassment when I shove you into the street."

  "Oh, now, that's a bit harsh, don't you think?"

  He couldn't believe her gall. He shook his head, a grin playing at his lips as he said, “You are unbelievable. Do you honestly think I would ever go that route again? I washed my hands of you and they will stay clean."

  She pouted, thrusting out her full lower lip. “Now, that is not fair, Drew."

  "Fair?” He cast another glance into the café, only to find Heather still staring, as if in shock. His patience eroded until nothing remained but anger. He turned on Rebecca with, “You expect me to treat you fairly? Why is that? Because you were always so straight and honest with me?"

  "I never meant to hurt you."

  "Just because your words were not meant for my ears does not mean I can forget they were ever spoken. Nor does it change what happened. You are a bitch, Rebecca. A cold-hearted, gold-digging bitch. I almost pity the man who winds up trapped with you. He won't know anything but sheer misery."

  "Well, now,” she sniffed, a cold hardness coming to her eyes. “You wouldn't say that if I gave you the one thing you were always begging me for now, would you?"

  He laughed then, yanking his arm free and stepping away from her. “Honey, I've a feeling that you've been around that block so many times that you'd never even know if I was near you, never mind actually inside you."

  "Oh!” She gasped, her cheeks a mottled red. “You are terrible."

  "What I am is honest. It's one of my faults, I suppose.” He grasped the door handle and tugged the door open. “I'm not interested, honey. Not now and not ever. I finished with you a long time ago and I have no intention of ever traveling that road again.” With that, he stepped into the café, striding purposefully towards the table in the back.

  "May I have a word with you, Miss Spencer?” he asked in a stiff voice that belied the emotions warring within him.

  She looked up at him through wide eyes, looking every bit at a loss for words. He stood there, feeling no little sense of discomfort as she allowed his words to simple hang in the air, almost visible for everyone around them to see. She wasn't going to make it easy on him and he couldn't fault her.

  Then, she sniffed with disgust. “I have nothing to say to you, Mr. Kennedy."

  Though he knew he deserved her contempt, he was stubborn enough to refuse to give up at one rebuff. As she turned her gaze downward, he crouched to bring himself even once more. Lowering his voice, he said, “Heather. I don't blame you for being angry. But please, please just give me a moment."

  Her eyes flicked up, focusing in on something beyond his left shoulder. Her silence stretched out even longer than the last, and he had the sinking feeling that she was about to refuse him again. Then she turned back, taking a deep breath and saying, “Very well."

  His relief was tempered by the fact that she didn't look at all forgiving, but he took her by the hand just the same, helping her to her feet. Ignoring the stares of the other café patrons, he guided her through the milling crowd and back out into the stifling heat.

  He didn't say a word as he hurried her along the walkway, around to the side of the small blue building. Then, without as much as a ‘how are you?', he pulled her into his arms and his mouth came down to claim hers.

  She stiffened against him, her lips still against his. Her defense lasted only a brief moment before she melted into him, her arms easing about his waist. Pulling her closer still, he didn't give a damn who might be watching. All he cared about was that she was in his arms again. It was all that mattered, putting things right between them and that damned kiss was a promising start.

  Reluctantly, he broke the kiss, sweeping his lips over her temple as he whispered, “I am so sorry, love. I am an ass. A complete and utter ass."

  "You wouldn't even allow me to explain,” she began softly, pulling away to gaze up into his tender eyes. “You were so angry..."

  He cupped her face in his hands. “I am sorry,” he repeated, gently kissing her forehead.

  Again, she pulled back. “Who was that woman?"

  "That, my love, was Rebecca."

  "Oh?"

  Drew felt her stiffen and he silently cursed the fact that Rebecca still had the power to disrupt his life. All hell was going to break loose now and he laid the blame squarely at her feet. “Now, Heather, before you become upset—"

  "Before I become upset? Now why would I become upset?"

  Anger flashed in her eyes as her voice rose sharply and he knew he was about to get what he deserved. But that didn't mean he couldn't attempt to diffuse her anger. “Heather—"

  She shook her head, all of the pent-up hurt and frustration poured into her voice as she lashed out with, “You turned on me, would not so much as listen to me! And then, the next time I see you, it's with a woman you supposedly despise!"

  That wasn't what he'd expected her to say. How could she know anything about Rebecca? He couldn't recall ever mentioning her by name, could only remember discussing her in passing. His brow furrowed as he shook his head. “Now, wait a moment. How do you know about Rebecca?"

  "Christina told me. She has become quite a good friend to me, you know, since you brought me here and then abandoned me.” She crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at him. “I suppose that was to be expected, though, as your invitation was the worst mistake of your life, now, wasn't it? I do believe those were your words, Drew. Were they not?"

  Thought he'd been waiting for that, he couldn't help but wince. With a sigh, he said, “I was angry, Heather. I spoke without thinking. I know that doesn't make it any better, but it's the truth."

  "It hurt all the same,” she replied softly, dropping her gaze as well as her voice. The breeze picked up, rippling her skirts as she added, “You simply cut me out of your life."

  "I did no such thing."

/>   "What would you call it, then?” she asked. “You did not even give me the chance to explain. Did not want to believe that I might be telling you the truth, then. You were so determined to believe I would do to you what Rebecca did. That I could do something so vile, so—so absolutely foolish."

  Damnation, this wasn't going at all how he'd envisioned it. They were supposed to make up, not argue about such idiocy. “You know nothing about what happened with her,” he shot back.

  "Of course not. Not from you, anyhow,” she retorted, lifting her eyes to meet his once more. “You refused to ever discuss her with me. You were so afraid that I might do the same thing. You had so little faith in me ... Why, I might never have even known she existed, had you not run that fever after Henry shot you!"

  His confusion grew tenfold. What did Henry have to do with anything? His gut twisted and he crossed his arms, squinting down at her as he asked, “What?"

  "You spoke of her. Several times, in fact."

  This was the first Drew knew he'd mentioned Rebecca. He shook his head. This was all going so horribly awry. Instead of putting things right with Heather, he was making them worse. Trouble was, he wasn't even certain how to right them now. Still, he had to know, had to try to make some sort of sense out of what she was saying. Although he wasn't exactly positive he wanted to know what his words were, he still asked, “What did I say?"

  "You were never clear as to whom you were talking about. But I know you called her by name, then. But that matters not at this moment. What matters is that you were so determined to keep me away that you would not even trust me enough to tell me what it was she did that was so horrible.” She shook her head, her eyes now shimmering with tears. “And now I am stuck here in America—with nothing, I might add—and you simply walked out the door without a second thought!"

  "I was angry.” He managed not to wince this time, even though he knew it was the most pathetic of excuses. It was the best he could offer.

  "You were afraid!” she shouted, throwing her hands into the air as her frustration boiled over. “And instead of trusting me, you lashed out at me! And now you kiss me and tell me you are sorry and that is supposed to set everything right again?"

  He couldn't resist a grin as he said, “I was hoping so."

  "Well, it doesn't.” She was crying now, hating herself for giving in to her tears, but unable to stop them. “And here I am! Alone in America and going to have a baby besides!"

  His blood froze in his veins as those words reached his ears. It was the last thing he'd expected to hear from her. The last thing he'd ever expected to hear from any woman, though he knew he shouldn't be surprised. He was no boy. He knew full well the consequences of bringing a woman to his bed. Until now, he'd never been confronted with those consequences.

  A slow smile lifted his lips. A child. He never thought he would see the day when hearing that he was going to be a father brought a smile to his face.

  Heather had spun away from him, burying her face in her hands as she dissolved into shoulder-wracking sobs. He stepped up to her, slipping his arms about her to pull her to his chest, wrapping in her in an embrace meant to take every last tremble, every last quiver, from her body. Kissing the top of her head, he murmured, “A child, Heather?"

  She continued sobbing, but managed to nod and choke out, “Y-yes."

  Slowly, he turned her about to engulf her in his arms. He tilted her face upwards, smoothing his thumbs over her cheeks, kissing her forehead again and whispering, “This makes you sad? You and I created this—a new life—and yet you shed tears over it?"

  She lifted red, puffy eyes to his. “Y-yes and n-no,” she sniffed.

  He smiled again, his thumbs moving lightly over the tears still sliding down her cheeks. “I think it's wonderful, love. We are going to bring a child into the world. That is cause for celebration, don't you think?” He didn't wait for her to reply, but kissed her tenderly on the lips and murmured, “Will you marry me, Heather?"

  "What?” Her voice rang with obvious disbelief.

  Drew nodded, finally feeling as though he were doing the right thing this time. “You heard me, love. Will you marry me?"

  Her eyes still shone with silvery tears, but they had to be those of joy, for a slow smile spread across her face, lighting her from within. A slow bob of her head, and she whispered, “Yes."

  Twenty-nine

  "Heather?"

  She pulled open her bedroom door to find Jeremy on the far side of the threshold. “Yes?” she asked, unable to keep the wariness from her voice. She hadn't felt comfortable in his presence since that awful afternoon he'd tried to kiss her.

  "Your knight in shining armor is here."

  "Thank you, then."

  She closed the door again, moving to take one last peek at her reflection in the mirror. Her stomach roiled, a combination of a morning sickness that lasted all day for her, and nerves. Tonight she would be meeting Drew's family for the first time.

  It still didn't seem possible that he had proposed to her. She couldn't keep the smile from her lips as she turned away from the mirror. Her spirits felt higher than ever before, despite her nervousness.

  The nausea rose sharply, forcing her to sit on the edge of the bed for a moment until it passed. She almost wished she would simply retch and be done with it, but it never happened that way. Instead, she carried the awful queasiness with her throughout the day, and had done so for the past two weeks. She took a deep breath, swallowing hard against the brackish taste rising in her mouth. The last thing she wanted was to feel so ill at supper. Drew's parents were bound to notice and wonder about her condition.

  "Well, I don't suppose I can put this off much longer,” she murmured, slowly getting to her feet and moving to the door. Gritting her teeth, she willed away the sick feeling as she made her way down the stairs and towards the parlor. She could hear Drew and Christina talking, and her belly curdled a bit. Still, she told herself she was being silly, and forced her feet to keep moving.

  She stepped into the parlor, smiling as Drew immediately turned her way and his eyes softened. In the golden glow of the candlelight, he looked as handsome as ever, in black trousers and a white cambric shirt, and she still couldn't believe he was going to be hers forever.

  Of course, that didn't change that she felt so awful. Her queasiness must have shown on her face, for as Drew neared, he took by the hand and leaned in to murmur, “Is everything all right, love?"

  She pressed her lips together, shaking her head. “Not exactly. But I will be fine."

  He frowned. “You don't look fine. In fact, you look as though you are about to retch right here.” He eased an arm about her waist, guiding her to his vacated chair.

  Christina's eyes narrowed. “Heather? What is it?"

  "Nothing,” she replied softly, digging her fingernails into the arms of the chair as she fought down the rising tide. “I am simply a bit nervous, I'm afraid."

  "May I fix you a cup of tea?"

  "That would be lovely. Thank you."

  As Christina left for the kitchen to brew the tea, Drew crouched down beside Heather, covering her hand with his. “Feeling sick, love?"

  She nodded slowly. “Yes. Terribly so."

  "You're starting to look a bit green.” He brushed her hair away from her face. “Do you wish me to fetch a doctor?"

  "No. I'm certain it will pass. I have barely eaten today."

  "The babe?"

  "Yes. Don't look so worried.” She tried to make her voice playful. “This is nothing to worry about. It's perfectly normal, I'm sure."

  He didn't look convinced, but took a deep breath and said, “Very well. We can reschedule supper, if you wish."

  "No. That won't be necessary, Drew. I think I am a mite nervous as well, which does not help."

  Christina returned several minutes later with the tea. Sinking into the chair across from Heather, she asked, “Do you need Dr. Morrison?"

  Heather accepted the cup, blowing gently at th
e steam curling away from the honeyed surface. “Thank you, Christina, but no. That's not necessary. As I said, it will pass.” She lifted the cup to her lips to sip the hot brew a bit at a time.

  Her nausea abated as she continued to sip the tea. When she finished, she placed the cup on its saucer, the saucer on the table, and got to her feet. “We should be on our way, Drew. I should hate to be late."

  "There is no hurry, love. Take all the time you need."

  "I am fine. Really. Now, shall we?” She eased her silk gloves over her fingers and turned to him. “I just wish to have this over and done."

  He grinned. “I assure you, Heather, you have nothing to fear. They are not ogres, you know.” Turning to Christina, he added, “Please tell her what my family is like."

  Christina gave her a reassuring smile. “They are perfectly lovely people, Heather. You are working yourself into lather for nothing."

  Surprisingly her reassurance did just the opposite to Heather, troubling her instead. Though she knew Christina was not a rival, by any means, she was not as comfortable with the situation as she originally thought. Perhaps it was because of the pregnancy, and the way her moods seemed to be so mercurial these days. Suddenly, she burned with jealousy over Drew and Christina's relationship. Oh, they might both claim that no feelings remained, Heather couldn't help but wonder if that would be the case, once she grew big and round and clumsy.

  She tried to shove the uncomfortable thoughts from her mind. Though he'd not yet spoken a word of love for her, he had proposed to her, so she shouldn't be jealous. He must feel something for her. She knew that, but still could not control the rush of green-eyed irritation flashing through her.

  Drew put a hand at the small of her back. “Shall we, then?"

  "Yes. Good evening, Christina."

  Christina gave her a warm smile. “Good luck, Heather. And smile. They will love you."

  * * * *

  Heather's palms felt clammy through her white gloves as they rolled up the drive to the front door of Shadowbrook. The windows blazed with welcoming golden light, but it did nothing to ease her nervous stomach.